


Solutions

by istie



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Sexual Frustration, Voice Kink, post-ME3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus and Shepard fall on the bordering-on-ridiculous side of the levo/dextro-allergic spectrum.  After the Reapers are defeated, their supply of anti-allergens runs out.  They find other ways of enjoying themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solutions

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the following prompt:
> 
> "Post-destroy, Shepard is recovering from serious injury. Garrus is there every step of the way, she's well on track to recover, life is good.
> 
> Except there's one little snag they uncover once she gets better.
> 
> With the Mass Relays gone and just about every bit of the Citadel trashed by the Reaper invasion, there is a severe shortage of condoms that turians can use, AND immuno boosters designed especially so both species can get it on with each other. 
> 
> And it's not like Shepard and Garrus can do anything with each other -- although Shepard can touch Garrus's plates without any reaction on both sides, if she touches him somewhere less protected, say, the palms of his hands or, worse, his crotch, he's pretty much on fire for days, and not in a good way, let alone if he touched, uh, any of her fluids. Coming inside Shepard would kill her (if he can get over how being inside her at all would be agonising) and don't get me started on saliva or what would happen if either side accidentally ingested skin particles from the other.
> 
> Cue two very sexually frustrated adults who haven't had their victory sex yet. How do they get around this?
> 
> (Bonus points if Garrus, ah, talks her through it. If you know what I mean...)"

They realized the problem as soon as they got five minutes to themselves in the post-war insanity. Shepard reached out and snagged Garrus, her hands slipping up into his fringe, Garrus pushing her up against a wall, pulling off his gloves, a hand in her hair, the other undoing the seals around her waist. They wouldn’t have long, they just needed a few minutes, they—

“ _Ow!_ ” they both exclaimed in unison, their hands flying away from each other as if burned.

“Holy _shit_ , Shepard, what the hell was that?”

“I don’t fucking know! Ow!”

It took them about ten seconds before the lights went on in both their eyes.

“The boosters—”

“It’s been more than 24 hours—”

Then, together:

“ _Fuck!_ ”

\---

It had been nearly four galactic standard weeks. The burning feeling in their hands hadn’t gone away for days; Garrus’ fringe had turned an odd colour and had swollen somewhat painfully; Shepard had some sort of rash on her scalp which itched constantly. It was obvious why, of course: unfortunately, both Garrus and Shepard were ridiculously allergic to each other (Dr. Chakwas had run the tests five times, unconvinced, because most levo/dextro allergies were only mild irritations if anything at all), and any bare touch on sensitive skin or any ingestion of any fluid or food would cause severe allergic reactions. Touching meant rashes; ingestion meant severe swelling and shortness of breath, along with the possibility of anaphylactic shock. It was every worst-case scenario rolled into one.

Luckily, modern medicine had all but eliminated the problem. Minor immune-boosters corrected the touching problem: they were standard-issue in daily regimens for the few officers in the galaxy who suffered from the severe allergies. Most didn’t need anything further than that.

Chakwas had procured the strong stuff when Mordin had forwarded her the file on Garrus and Shepard. Mercifully, she had a slightly better bedside manner when it came to sex than Mordin did, and after confirming the allergies in both of them, she managed to convince the two of them to use the stronger boosters before anything terrible happened.

Alas.

The supply lines were shot.

The mass relays were down indefinitely; pretty much all of Earth was trashed; the Citadel was all but destroyed.

Extra-strength levo/dextro immuno-boosters were _not_ at the top of any medic’s procurement list. And turian condoms? You could count _them_ right the fuck out.

So there they sat, beside each other in her quarters on the Normandy (emergency power only, quieter than most shelters, couldn’t hold more than a couple people, they didn’t want to take up space and didn’t need medical attention – besides, Shepard missed the fish tank), on the couch, fully armoured, a full foot of empty space between them.

It was _hell_. They’d run out of even the regular-strength boosters at the same time, and they could barely be in the same room. They’d sterilized the room (with Tali’s expert help), but couldn’t chance any stray skin flakes, or hair, or whatever. Neither of them had been off the regular boosters for longer than a day or two in the middle of a battlefield where you had enough medigel in you to kill anything; they had no immunity to each other. At all.

They spent most of their days cleaning and repairing, and sometimes grabbing their sidearm to shoot a random husk. Meals were community events. Evenings were mostly theirs. Not much else to do but talk. They’d played cards until they’d run out of things to bet (at which point they’d usually start betting their clothing, but—yeah). They’d read all the books on each other’s omnitools. They’d rearranged the room five times. It had ended up the same way it always was. They’d cleaned all the guns. They’d re-built all Shepard’s models. They’d cleaned the fucking _bathroom_. They’d even played _hide-and-seek._  

They’d talked about everything under the sun, from Palaven’s natural fauna to Earth’s historical love of soccer. They’d talked about their military careers, their childhoods, their families, their mistakes, their successes. Their dreams. What they wanted to do now the war was over. What they thought they were _likely_ to do, now the war was over. They’d even talked about sex, and what worked, and what didn’t. That conversation had stopped pretty quickly, actually.

They were closer than ever, now that they had the time to find out each other’s secrets.

And they were both itching – literally – to touch, to caress, to lick, to suck, to nibble, to make love, to _fuck_. And they couldn’t.

So they sat on the couch, a foot apart, in their hardsuits, feeling like they’d never identified with Tali so much as they did now.

Most. Romantic. Victory. Ever.

“You know, from the vids, I didn’t think it’d be like this,” said Garrus idly, staring at a spot on the wall he’d tried to scrub off several times, to no avail.

“What, you mean the end of the war? We won, now let’s celebrate? Ha ha no, that’s not how it ever works, and you know it.” Shepard sounded bitter, but not quite vitriolic. Just annoyed.

“Yeah, I know.”

Silence.

“Why, how did you want it to go?” She didn’t bother looking at him. His non-polarized visor had been broken in one of the thousands of firefights; all she would be able to see would be the black, reflective, clean surface of the helmet.

He paused briefly before replying. “Well, I certainly didn’t think we’d be wearing our hardsuits around each other.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… I thought probably—well, no, I guess I _hoped_ —honestly, if I’m being realistic with myself, I figured we’d be working all day moving shit, and collapsing into makeshift cots, too tired to even say good night.”

“Well call _me_ swept off my feet, smooth talker.” She sounded amused.

“You know how post-war recovery goes.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Silence again.

“So … what were you _hoping_?”

“Ah. I. Well.”

An idea occurred to him.

“I was thinking that we’d get back to the Normandy after a long day of work, and I’d help you out of your armour, and you’d help me out of mine…”

\---

His voice had dropped into that low range that he _knew_ sent warmth straight to her clit. She started aching even before he’d made it to the part about taking off their armour. She was suddenly very aware of how her hardsuit felt very constrictive, and warm …

“Garrus, I—are you sure about—” Her brain was already short-circuiting. Oh fucking hell in January did she want him badly. Four fucking weeks—

“Shh, Shepard, I’m not done talking. You seem warm, though: why don’t you take your hardsuit off for a while? I can keep mine on to make sure you’re okay.”

“Uh… okay, yeah, that… yeah, sure.” She stood and started undoing the seals, removing one piece at a time. He reclined against the back of the couch, stretching one leg out in front of him, throwing his arms up on the back of the cushions. She knew he was watching her.

“Where was I… oh yes. And once I’d gotten your armour off, I’d slip my hands under your shirt and pull it over your head, making sure I caressed your breasts on the way up … I might even play with your nipples slightly through your bra, tweak them, roll them between my gloved talons—”

She was intensely glad she was facing away from him as the first shudder of desire ran through her, a tiny moan escaping her lips.  

“I know you like that, the feel of the soft leather on your skin, the way it’s like electricity shooting through you … but I’d stop, probably far earlier than you’d want me to, and I’d pull the shirt off, and toss it aside – and then I’d strip you of your pants, and trail my talons along the side of your legs, barely touching, just teasing…”

She finally got all the armour off, and she set to cleaning it. You couldn’t _not_ clean your hardsuit when you removed it, especially when working in all this dirt and grime. Besides, she didn’t want to make this _too_ easy on him…

“And then I’d step forward, and put my knee between your legs, and spread you out slightly – I’d grind my knee up against your pussy, and you’d _moan_ , that low moan you do when you want me to fuck you. But I’d just take your bra off, and then play with your nipples some more – they’d be so hard, so taut, and with every touch you’d want me to be touching elsewhere, you’d want my tongue on you…”

Shepard squirmed, feeling herself becoming wetter by the second. Halfway done the legs. This had to be the fastest damn cleaning in the history of the Alliance.

“I’d step back then, and leave you there, shivering in the cold, only wearing your terribly-boring Alliance-standard underwear, and I’d strip, and you’d _watch_ … watch as I slowly expose myself to you, shirt first – I know you like my chest, my cowl, you like to touch it, you like to hold onto it as I fuck you into the wall—and then my pants, and I’d make sure to give you a full view of that tight turian ass that gets you so hot before turning back to you, pulling your underwear off, and tossing you into the shower. After all—” She could imagine the gleam in his eye as he watched her clean her hardsuit. “We’ve got to be clean, don’t we?”

Onto the chestpiece now. She wanted to be done soon, to focus on that gorgeous voice … she was about ready to abandon her task, but stubborn pride kept her from leaving the armour, washing her hands, and stroking herself to release.

“I’d wash you, scrubbing off all the grime, massaging soap through your hair, combing out the tangles – and you’d wash me, making sure to get between all my plates, and I do mean _all_ of them—”

She shuddered, her mind’s eye suddenly full of the image of her washing Garrus, then watching his gorgeous cock emerge, and then she’d—

“But before you could get to doing what you like the most, my dear, sweet, eager Shepard, I’d sweep you off your feet and toss you on the bed…”

She couldn’t help it. She groaned, her eyes rolling back momentarily. Chestpiece done. Helmet. Clean the damn helmet, Shepard.

“And then I’d climb onto you, lean in over you – put my head just beside yours, whisper in your ear…”

His voice had dropped again, almost to a whisper – but it was more of a growl, a deep purring noise underneath it.

She dropped the gleaming helmet and pulled her underclothes off as quickly as she possibly could. She was dirty… she debated, for a second, then ran to the bathroom and washed the industrial solvents and cleaning fluids off her hands. Not worth the risk.

Mercifully, he waited. She hadn’t been sure he would.

The rest of her was more or less clean – just sweaty. She debated sprawling over him in order to share the sensations to some degree—

And then she thought of all the terrible things that might happen if his armour got contaminated, and fell onto the bed instead, scooting up to her pillows and propping herself up.

Fingers down, one on each side of her clit, rub.

Oh _fuck_.

A satisfied noise from the other side of the room.

“I’d tell you what I was about to do to you … I’d make you squirm, just like that … and do you know what I would say? Do you know what I would do, Shepard?”

She twirled her clit in her fingers and moaned.

“Do you have _any_ idea what I’d do to you, Shepard?” His voice was getting raspier.

She managed a few words, breathy but clear. “No—no, Garrus, tell me…”

“I would slowly, _oh_ so slowly, lick your ear … slip my long blue tongue out and slide it over your skin, swirl it around the curves of your lips, taste your teeth and your tongue, feel the hum of your moaning over my tongue … and then my tongue would slip lower, and bathe your breasts in attention, circling your areolas with the tip, sucking on them, moving my hands to them and squeezing them gently, massaging them…”

A twinge of joy shot up through her. She was close, so close. One hand went up to a breast, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the nipple slightly. She shivered again.

“Then I’d go even lower, Shepard, and trace lines with my tongue down your stomach before teasing you mercilessly, tracing the lines of your labia with my talons and my tongue, flicking at your entrance, tasting your incredible musky wetness, spreading you wider with my hands—and then I’d suck at your clit, _oh_ so gently, before swirling my tongue around it, just to the side, just there, yes, I know where you’re touching yourself—”

A louder moan. She bucked up into her hand, and brought her other hand down from her breast to her entrance, coating a finger in the slickness before slipping it into herself and curling it up, making herself groan and shudder.

“You’re getting ahead of me, Shepard.” A satisfied, smug smile in his voice. “While my long tongue was occupied with your wonderfully swollen clit, I’d slide my fingers into you – not one, _two_ , I know you can fit two, and I know it stretches you, and I know it drives you wild – and I’d thrust my fingers into you in short, sharp bursts, just shallow enough to make you thrash around me… then I’d curl my fingers, just like I’m sure you’re doing now, and scratch that one spot, _just there_ , and you’d scream, _so close but so far,_ Shepard, because you want something more, don’t you?”

She writhed and whimpered. She was starting to clench around her fingers; she could feel herself losing control.

“I’d leave your clit and pull my fingers out, and slide up along you until I could look you in the eye – see your blushing face, your eyes full of lust, your hair spread out on the pillow, my name on your lips—”

“Garrus…”

“And then I’d put your hands over your head, hold them there, and _drive my cock into your dripping pussy—_ ”

“ _Garrus_ …”

“But I’d stop short, hilted in you, as you screamed my name, feeling my long hard cock stretch your walls, massage them in all the ways a human cock never could—and then I’d pull back, slowly, gently, until my tip was just barely nestled in your folds … before pushing in again, slowly again, letting you feel each ridge, letting you feel every millimetre of me… and you’d moan, oh you make the dirtiest sounds when I fuck you, Shepard…”

“Oh, oh, _oh Garrus_ , _please_ …”

“Please, please what, Shepard?”

“ _Garrus_ , _please_ , let me come!”

“I have nothing to do with you coming, Shepard, not directly, anyway…”

“ _Keep going, please, I beg you—”_

“All you had to do was ask, my dear…”

A moan.

“I’d start moving in and out of you, nice and hard, reminding you that we were both alive, that we’d come out of this insane war safe, and now the great Commander Shepard, saviour of the galaxy, was having her brains fucked out by the magnificent cock of Garrus Vakarian – ah, _freedom_ – and I’d get faster, bit by bit, until I was fucking you into the bed, and you’d scream, you’d scream my name, but I’d just keep going, fucking you until you could barely breathe anymore, let alone scream—and then, then, Shepard, then you would come, and it would be like stars behind your eyes—”

She came. She screamed, she shook, her body clenched around her fingers; the waves of ecstasy rolled over and through her, up and down, she couldn’t tell which way was up anymore, the feeling was absolutely delicious … she was lost on a sea of joy, of peace, no more thoughts inside her head, just the image, the mental image, the muscle memory, of Garrus Vakarian fucking her until she couldn’t move anymore …

If he said anything more, she couldn’t remember it. It felt like hours later when she came back to reality, but the remaining slickness between her legs told her it had perhaps been minutes, no more. Every muscle in her body was loose; she lay limply on the bed, her breathing having stabilized, her body temperature still high, her heart still beating a little faster than normal.

“How are you feeling?” He was still on the couch. She liked it when he held her through orgasm, but, well…

She tried to speak but nothing came out. She swallowed and tried again, only to realize she had no idea what to say.

“Good, then, I take it.”

She nodded weakly.

“We’re going to have to sterilize the room again.”

She smiled faintly and nodded again.

“I must say you look particularly ravishing like that.”

She laughed, just a puff of air through her nose and a full smile.

“If I wasn’t going to break into hives from touching your bedsheets, I might just … pleasure myself … to the sight of you, spent, satisfied, _sexy_ …”

She moaned and pressed her legs together, her desire threatening to rekindle. “Garrus,” she managed to croak, “give me five more minutes at _least_ …”

He laughed, and it was the sexiest thing she’d heard all night.


End file.
